Whereforto Ye Wanderers

Whereforto Ye Wanderers.



Tuesday, February 1, 2011

if you were to hear a whisper
at the waxing moon of winter,
at the frozen over windows,
at the foot of yr forlorn bed,
at the corner of every dead end
street where the signs are
dripping blood red..
if you were to hear a whisper
at the lull between two records
spinning the young folks to tizzies
and fainting,
at the entrance of a doorway
that led to many more doorways,
at the bottom of the stairwell
squinting to see the shadow
of everybody leaving..
if you were to hear a whisper
at the end of false orgasm,
at the click of gas stoves
turning over for tea,
at the flick of several matches
to light yr morning pipe,
or in the static of a broken
television screen..
if you were to hear a whisper
at the breaking of dawn before
you've even gotten to sleep,
at the first glass of whiskey
being poured from silver buckets
that later you will kick from
beneath yr feet...
if you were to hear a whisper
at the end of a sigh,
at the recognition of numbness,
at the gasp between breaths
the rest between the beat beat beat
of yr unforgiving heart..
if you were to hear a whisper
while reading the poetry of dead
women and dead prophets and dead
of night living men,
at the end of a song not written
for you,
at the last drag of a cigarette
you wish would last forever
for after this last cigarette
you will likely lose grip...
if you were to hear a whisper
at the edge, looking over a bluff
and past the maize spread horizon,
at the crack of a fire
made with wet wood and newspapers,
at the misconclusion of all
the lies you've told or have been
told..
if you were to hear a whisper
at the Amen after a prayer,
at the clanking of dishes noone
told you to wash,
at the piddle-piddle-pat-pat
footsteps around a house
full of ghosts
grasping at you like fingertips
tickling yr ribs til you
cannot breathe..
if you were to hear a whisper
in the hiss of hot showers,
in the silence of sweating crowds,
in the screeching of guitars
while little nails scratch across
the table tops smothered in beer..
oh dear,
i'm afraid i've heard the whisper
but i cannot understand what it has said,
when you hear it and know it well
be very sure, dear, that you are dead.
you are dead
you are dead
you are dead
you are dead
you are dead
you are dead
you are dead
you are dead
you are dead
you are dead
you are dead
you are dead
you are dead
you are dead
you are dead
you are dead
you are dead
you are dead
you are dead
dead
dead
dead
dead
can you hear it now darling, all the winds i sent your way in hopes that you would catch on and find me waiting at the licking flames they began at? can you hear it now darling the open-throat vessel i begged you to board and carry away with into the shadowing secretions of a sea silently smacking against rocks with my love? can you hear it now darling the angels singing their refrains at my command, the devil joining in at his own will while i whistle? can you hear it now darling the tickatickatickaticka time bomb i set at infinity and three oh baby when i explode then will you admit that my love was the best love? can you hear it now darling the whole hellish lot of them keeping wake wherever eternity is for me to leave the thought of you, to go to them, to leave my body and to join in the wayward path past fledgling desires, to know love that is true and not of this incapable world?
you cannot hear it now darling, but i've whispered a million tiny poems in yr favourite color all over the course of yr dying days, and though you will not think of me at the sight of them, though you will not recognize the cantation being of my heart because it is in the form of every lover you never had, you will pick up all the blooms and blades that i scattered at yr footway, put them in a box, and let them die as you always wished you could.

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